After the War
by saltwater dreamer
Summary: After the war, Harry contends with malfunctioning wands, rebuilding Hogwarts and finding a job while trying to find happiness, because trading insults with Malfoy does not count. Completely AU, Fem!Harry and DM/HP.
1. Rebuilding

The sun was rising, pulling the castle from the shadows. Harry felt she had stepped inside a monochrome picture; everything around her white or black. She hunched her shoulders and scuffed the ground. This was Hogwarts. This was home. In ruins.

The birds were earnestly chipping; the wind was racing up the still standing walls. It was still eerily silent. She wrapped her arms around her torso, her fingers clutching her faded red jumper. Around the cuffs the wool was unravelling.

Taking out her new wand, Ash and Dragon heartstring, she gave it an experimental flick. It hissed at her. Harry scowled, wondering for the hundredth time if Ollivander had made a mistake. He was getting old. She refused to think of the other option: that she didn't deserve a loyal wand after everything she had done. After having her holly wand break.

During the extent of the war, she had been using Malfoy's wand, having no time to get another wand especially fitted to her. She was ashamed to admit it had worked better than this ash stick.

Angrily she stuffed it back up her sleeve.

"Wand trouble Potter?" a familiar voice sneered.

Harry whipped around. He was standing too close to have gone unnoticed so long. She idly wondered if he was part vampire and had learned to shadow walk. He looked more like a shadow than a person, in his grey robes, grey eyes, pale skin and near colourless hair.

"Malfoy." She wrinkled her nose, but straighten her spine, "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy gave a long-suffering sigh; he would probably have rolled his eyes if he was anyone else. "I'm sure even you can figure that out."

McGonagall had sent out letters yesterday to all Hogwarts students asking for help in rebuilding the place. Harry imagined most of it would be manual labour, since she doubted many people had building expertise; therefore, she was surprised that Malfoy had turned up.

"I didn't think Malfoys got their hands dirty."

He flushed, "I didn't think the illustrious girl-who-lived would be able to get away from her fans – seems like we're both wrong."

"It's the girl-who-won now." She shot back smirking. She hated the name, both names, but she knew better than to tell Malfoy that. Any weakness would be exploited mercilessly.

"Really? What have you won? A ruined castle, a haunted world? Don't be naïve Potter, in a war no one ever wins." Malfoy spat, bitter and older than his not eighteen years.

"I won." Harry insisted, because despair was a constant neighbour, a ground that was threatening to swallow her whole, and she needed some platitude to keep it at bay. "I won the chance to live and rebuild and heal." She dug her nails into her palms, stretching the newly healed scar across her knuckles. She desperately wanted to believe it.

Malfoy snorted, "How sickeningly sentimental, but whatever makes you sleep at night."

Harry received his words like a punch in the gut, because she did. She said the words so she could sleep at night, or at least snatch a few hours. Malfoy always knew which buttons to push and she hated him for it. She wanted to hex him, but she didn't stand a chance with her temperamental new wand.

Just then they both heard a crack and they turned to see McGonagall striding towards them.

"Miss Potter, you are here early."

Harry forced herself to smile and forget Malfoy's words. "I'm excited to get started." The fact that she couldn't sleep and pretending too had been driving her crazy had nothing whatsoever to do with it. She didn't dare look at Malfoy, in case her thoughts were echoed back in his face.

McGonagall smiled and nodded, before turning to Malfoy with a decidedly cooler air and acknowledged him with a short nod. "Malfoy. Good of you to come."

"McGonagall, my pleasure."

McGonagall's eye twitched, whether from the lack of 'professor' or because his response was obviously sarcastic Harry didn't both to ponder and sympathised completely. Annoying didn't even begin to describe Malfoy.

They were standing in what used to be the great hall. Looking up you still saw the sky, the sun and clouds, but this wasn't a clever illusion anymore. The ceiling had collapsed from one too many misaimed blasting curses, shattering the ceiling and the illusion.

The long tables were all split in two, or three or four pieces and the benches were missing legs. Harry tried not to look too closely, especially at the dark stains on the floor, and tried even harder to forget which stains were her doing.

"Before the builders start on the reconstruction, we have to remove all the loose rubble. All the loose stones and gravel are to be moved down by the quidditch pitch – they might be able to be used again once we start rebuilding."

Malfoy lazily flicked his wand and directed a stream of loose stones from the hall.

Harry bit her lip, "Wingardium leviosa." She whispered quietly. She had been able to do wordless magic since fourth year, but this wand wasn't her Holly wand or Malfoy's Hawthorne wand, this wand was Ash and stubborn as the day was long. She wasn't giving it any excuses to misinterpret her will.

The boulder she had pointed at shot up in the air and came down just as quickly. It hadn't moved a centimetre.

Malfoy snickered.

She flicked her wand angrily in frustration, her usually short temper already at an end. A stone sailed throw the air and caught Malfoy in the gut, causing him to land heavily on his butt.

Harry laughed, even though she hadn't meant it. At least her wand and she agreed on the fact that Malfoy was a prat.

Malfoy jumped up quickly, face red and sent a spell her way. Harry ducked.

"Children! No duelling in Hogwarts. The structure is unsound enough without your help."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Harry said regretfully, although it was probably for the best; with the way her wand had been acting, the duel wouldn't have ended in her favour. She frowned. Without a working wand she was useless. She used to be the best dueller in her year, in most of the upper years as well, and now she couldn't even caste a proper levitation spell. It just needed time, she consoled herself, she had only gotten the wand yesterday, it just needed time to adjust to her.

In the meantime, maybe she could use some runes to get the job done. She had never been good at runes. She hadn't wanted to take the class, and slept through many lectures as a silent protest. But she wasn't going to stand around uselessly as Hogwarts was rebuilt. It was her home and she wanted to have a hand in rebuilding the place, making it better than it ever was before. She brushed aside some pebbles and pulled a piece of chalk from her pocket. Kneeling, she began to draw.

"What _are_ you doing?" Malfoy asked scathingly when he returned to the hall for the next bunch of rubble.

"What does it look like?" She shot back just as sarcastically.

He scanned the hastily sketched runes she had drawn, and snorted, "That's never going to work without a grounding rune."

"Shut up Malfoy – or I'll knock you down again."

"Please, that was pure luck."

"I get lucky a lot." Harry stated, looking up to stare him in the eye.

"No matter how lucky you are that array's never going to work." He taunted and walked away before Harry could respond.

"Pompous git." She muttered, but added the grounding rune. The idea was to make a temporary portal to move inanimate objects short distances. Without a grounding rune, an object could disappear from the starting point but never arrive at the intended destination. She was slightly ashamed that Malfoy had been able to interpret her array at one glance, when it had taken her ages to remember the right runes and how to place them correctly. Luckily, she wouldn't need runes as an auror. At least it wasn't a requirement.

All she had to do to complete the array was sketch the arrival runes at her intended destination, in this case the quidditch pitch.

She jumped to her feet, wiping the dust from the knees of her worn jeans. More students had arrived along with the sun, she noticed as she jogged to the quidditch pitch.

"Hey Harry!" an Irish voice called.

"Seamus – how's it going?"

"Ah ye know. Good mostly – me mam's still in hospital."

Harry nodded, she had only been cleared from the hospital a week ago herself, "She'll get there." Harry wasn't good at comforting.

"Yeah I know – so what about you?" Seamus asked, determinedly upbeat.

"I think I've found a much better way to clear the hall – want to help?" She grinned mischievously. Seamus was always up for some mischief so he readily consented. In her Hogwarts days, whenever Ron and she needed another wand for their latest plot or scheme, Seamus was always the first port of call. Harry wished it was Ron though. Ron and she were a team, but today he was helping George out in the joke shop. She understood. George needed him more than she did. She still wished he was here.

A few minutes later the last runes were drawn and they were back in the Great Hall, Seamus methodically moving rubble to the centre of the rune array and Harry smoothly activating the runes. It was something even her wayward wand couldn't bungle up, since the wand didn't need to shape any magic just direct magical energy into the array. They had enlisted Dean's help in clearing the stones as soon as they arrived on the quidditch pitch.

She saw Malfoy glancing their way once or twice, and she determined to ignore him because it would make him angrier than any words she could think of. Her determination didn't last long. Unable to help herself she demanded, "What?"

"Oh nothing – it's nothing." Malfoy insisted in a voice that said quite plainly that there was indeed something.

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows and stared at him. She had an impressive stare.

"Just seems like an awful lot of work for a task that could be accomplished so easily with a flick of a wand."

Harry was unsure whether Malfoy was just taunting her, or if he had guessed that her wand was malfunctioning and was taunting her to admit that fact. Either way Harry wasn't going to admit anything to the git.

"It's more efficient. You're just narked you didn't think of it yourself."

"Right – it took you forever to think up that rune array, and you need how many people to make it work? Two in the great hall and one to remove the stones when they arrive at the quidditch pitch? – You can't do anything the normal way can you – oh no you're the great Harry Potter who has to incessantly prove just how much better than everyone else she is."

"Merlin Malfoy! Stop being such a bitter old man. My way is better – and I'll prove it to you, let's have a race."

"Its three against one – that's hardly fair." He dismissed.

"We'll make it so that we have to transport at least three times the amount of rocks."

He pretended to think about it, but Harry already knew he wouldn't say no, he just liked being dramatic.

"What are the stakes?" He finally asked.

Harry shrugged, the stakes weren't as interesting as the winning, "Bragging rights?"

Malfoy scoffed, "Gryffindors – no imagination."

Malfoy seemed to think that 'Gryffindors' was an insult in and of itself, and could be used in pretty much any situation – from critiquing her dress sense and manners to her intelligence or magical expertise. Unfortunately for him, Slytherin House boasted such fine specimens of wizard-hood as Crabbe and Goyle, so Harry didn't think he had a leg to stand on and treated all such comments with as much equanimity as a duck would getting wet.

"Fine – I'll owe you one favour to be redeemed later – but I do reserve the right to refuse if it's really ghastly." Harry rolled her eyes.

This seemed to satisfy him for he moved on, "Time limit?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Ten."

"Fifteen." Harry knew that the longer the race, the more likely Malfoy would be of getting tired and slowing down, whereas the physical exertion of her method was minimal.

"Fine."

"McGonagall will judge."

"What are you a muggle? I think we can determine the win between ourselves like civilized wizards." He demanded.

"I'm a witch." Harry retorted, but didn't push the issue. It was clear that Malfoy wasn't McGonagall's favourite person. Malfoy might not have a dark mark, and there might not be any concrete evidence against him, but the war had just ended and no one could forget that he hadn't fought, or if he had it hadn't been on their side.

"Really?" He feigned surprise.

Harry flushed. Her hair was short and messy and her chest was practically no-existent. She didn't care. Mostly. Not now at least with a competition to win. Her blood was already starting to race, all her nerves jumping to life and time itself slowing to her command. She felt alive. It was June, the sun was shining, the wind pulling her hair, and nothing could matter but the next fifteen minutes.

Harry turned away, "Seamus tell Dean we're racing." Because trading insults with Malfoy was fun, but winning was even better.

Malfoy didn't start levitating rocks at once, he climbed up a part of the broken castle wall so that he had a clear view of the quidditch pitch. Then he brought up his wand and the boulders started moving, Indian file, down to their destination, bobbing along like apples in a stream.

Malfoy looked like a grand conductor, high on his perch with the sun behind him, and the rocks his musicians. The amount of concentration involved to levitated such a large amount of rocks was impressive to put it mildly, but Harry didn't have time to stare.

Draco chose the bigger rocks to levitate since it was hard to keep his concentration divided between so many objects. Harry and her team took a different approach. They could only transport a certain volume at one time, so Harry instructed Seamus to levitate the smaller rocks onto the rune array, so that she could activate more rocks at one time.

Once the fifteen minutes were up, both Harry and Malfoy raced to the pitch. Harry began counting her boulders – 103 – before moving on to Malfoy's pile. He had 32.

"We won!" she exclaimed. 32 times 3 after all was only 96.

"I beg your pardon." Malfoy interrupted, as Seamus and she were exchanging high fives.

"Yes?" Harry scowled.

"Your maths skills are clearly lacking, since it's obvious that I am the winner. You clearly agreed that your team needed 3 times my amount in order to win, or are you changing your mind?"

"No, those were the terms but we did transport more than 3 times the amount you did."

Malfoy scoffed again, "According to my calculations you have 1340 stone of rock and I have 469 stone. 469 multiplied by 3 is 1407 stone which is clearly more than your measly 1340 stone."

"What? Are you seriously going by weight?"

"Of course."

"That's ridiculous!"

"What were you measuring by?"

"Number of rocks of course." Harry glared. Malfoy glared back. Trust Malfoy to make everything difficult. She should have known that she should have gone over the terms of the bet at least a dozen times.

"You stated the amount of rocks we transported, that clearly implies weight!"

"No, it doesn't! Amount means number!"

Seamus and Dean looked at each other and decided this would be an excellent time to grab a butterbeer down at Hogsmead.

 **AN** So Malfoy's stone = 10 pounds. Apparently stone is an outdated way of measuring weight, so I thought it was perfect of the wizarding world. I'm not an expert, I just looked it up on wiki so it might not be accurate, since it was also said 1 stone could be anywhere from 5 to 40 pounds. I just choose 10 pounds for convenience's sake. R &R!


	2. Ambiguities

Harry was in the basement of Grimmauld Place, throwing spells at the reinforced wall. Some with more success than others. Visualising Malfoy's head seemed to help.

Sirius had given the place to her, saying he never wanted to see it again. He was living in a cottage in Godric's Hallow now, and while Harry was sceptical about its improved influence on his mental health, it also wasn't her place to interfere. He was her godfather not the other way around despite what it felt like at times. She had convinced him to see a mind healer though, which Harry counted as progress.

Another blasting hex bounced off the wall. Harry ducked. There was at least one spell that her wand could produce most of the time.

She had been accepted into the auror training program even without completing her Newts, and although offence was a major component of auror training, they also needed their wands for things like basic healing, tracking, defence, ward diagnostics, and who knows what else. And if she flunked out of the auror program, she wouldn't be accepted anywhere else, not with a wand that only wanted to sow destruction.

She sighed. It had been almost a fortnight since she received the wand and there still wasn't any improvement in its performance. Maybe another trip to Ollivander's was required.

She quickly changed into a fresh t-shirt and shoved her feet into a pair of beaten up boots which might have belonged to Sirius as a kid. She had found them in a cupboard along with ten years' worth of old newspaper, moldy socks, a pair of old cleansweaps twos and various cauldrons the contents of which she hadn't wanted to know. But the boots were good. The soles still solid but worn enough that she could walk without making a sound, if she put her mind to it. She pulled a black pointed hat down over her ears, and apparated to Diagon Alley.

The Alley was busy. Wizards and witches completing last minute shopping before work started again on Monday. Harry hunched her shoulders and kept her head lowered. She was just another body in the crowd. Despite the activity, Diagon Alley had changed. Windows were boarded up as the owners hadn't time to install new glass. The soot of spell fire blackened shop fronts and cobbled streets. Fresh paint covered up any pro-Voldemort graffiti. People kept their eyes straight ahead as if believing that if they didn't see it, the signs of the war could all be washed away.

Everyone was waiting for the rain. Harry wondered if it would ever come, and if it did what else would be erased.

Harry ducked into Ollivander's; there were fewer wands now. The shelfing on the left wall was a pile of rubble on the floor.

"Harry Potter."

Harry jumped just like the first time she had come here.

"Ash and dragon heartstring – although it wasn't your first wand." He smiled. It was still creepy.

"That's what I've come about. I don't think this wand likes me." Harry pulled it from her sleeve, giving it a disgusted glare.

"Are you sure it isn't you who doesn't like him?"

Her wand had a gender now. Of course. Harry struggled to keep her face still, and her eyes focused on his face.

"I like it – him just fine." She protested.

Ollivander just smiled, "Ah first love – there will never be anything like it again. Yet not all loss must be a tragedy."

Harry had never been in love, not really, and she didn't want love advice, she just wanted her wand to work properly.

"So why doesn't this wand work?" she asked, hoping such a straightforward question would lead to less ambiguities.

Ollivander looked offended, "All of my wands work, young lady – I have been making wands since your grandfather's time, and the quality is always guaranteed."

"I didn't mean – I mean I'm sure you're a great wandsmith." Wandmaker? Wandcrafter? She cringed, "But maybe this wand isn't right for me – couldn't I try some other wands?"

A storm cloud was beginning to form over the wandmaker's head. "The ash wand will always cleave to its first master and that wand choose you – the master should afford him the same curtesy."

"But –" Harry was about to protest that the wand didn't like her again, but she really didn't want more strange love advise.

"I'm going to flunk out of auror training before I've even started at this rate."

"To move forward, the past must be set free."

"Right." Harry stated frowning when she saw Ollivander wasn't inclined to continue. This was worse than talking to Dumbledore. She wondered if he was born spouting cliqued one liners, or if it was due to one too many knocks on the head as a kid.

"I will be seeing you."

Even his farewell manged to be vaguely ominous.

"Um yes- uh bye." Harry fled the shop as quickly as possible without appearing to be unnerved. She had her pride after all. For the moment, at least. She wasn't too confident it would be intact after tomorrow's auror training, but pride was the least of her worries.

\- _(Auror Training)_

She couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning, she couldn't find any position to relax. Her muscles were clenching, the sheets were conspiring to choke her. Finally, she rolled from the bed. There wasn't much to do at 3:30 in the morning. Usually she would practice wand work, but now that would only serve to frustrate.

She needed to get out of here. The walls were too solid, too close together, holding her in, holding her down in the dark.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she slipped from the house, feeling like a thief, or a prison escapee. She wanted to slam the door. To tell the place who owned whom. But today it was just a victory to get out of there. Any sound and her fragile world would shimmer and fall away leaving her bound in the dark.

She began to run. Today was the first day of Auror training. It wasn't real auror training. That wouldn't start until September. But during the summer, the acting minister – Kingsley Shacklebolt – had decided to create a program for all those wizards and witches who for whatever reason - no chance to finish their Newts, or not passing all the Newts requirements, which considering the last few turbulent years most of the Hogwarts students hadn't – could have a chance to see whether they would like to be an auror and of course the veterans could also determine who had the skills to make it in the field.

Even though the war was over, aurors were needed more than ever. When the ministry had been fully occupied by Voldermort and his supporters, many other wizards had used the opportunity to skirt the law without repercussions. Even without the big bad wolf, the world wasn't sunshine and roses.

Harry was nervous. If she didn't perform well in these three trial months, she would never be accepted into the auror program. She pumped her legs faster. There was no use obsessing over her useless wand. Maybe there wouldn't be wand work until later, maybe in a week she would be able to work out her wand and her differences. She hoped.

The sun began to rise. Her shadow stretched before her.

Slowly she returned to her portentous house. Her face was beet red, and her breathing short. He legs felt like jelly. She shouldn't have run so hard.

After stumbling into the shower, she felt a lot more human. She made herself porridge, because bacon and eggs roused unpleasant memories. Porridge was bland, but completely safe. She was meeting Ron at the borrow. They would start the auror program together, just like they began Hogwarts.

Harry stumbled from the floo. Ron laughed. "You're still as bad as you were at 12."

Harry grinned weakly. She hated the floo. Unfortunately, the ministry had tightened its security so that apparition into the atrium was no longer an option.

Ron tapped his Oak wand against his thigh as they waited for the lift.

"You nervous?" Harry asked.

"What's there to be nervous about? – I survived a war, I can survive a training day." His words were more confident than his voice.

"Yeah, you're right," Harry said, she liked how their friendship didn't need to be honest.

The day began smoothly. Kingsley made an inspirational speech about light and dark, good and evil and us and them – in short, all the things that weren't important. Harry ground her teeth. Everyone walks the shadows sometimes, everyone had to in the war. Instead she shallowed and stared at the floor. Was it just her that was a murderer?

Luckily her ears didn't turn red when upset.

"All right, overall fitness will be tested first, this is about both endurance and speed, so find a pace that is challenging but still comfortable."

Harry grinned. She liked running, and to discover how she preformed compared to her peers would be interesting. She hoped she wasn't dead last, like the first day of quidditch practice back in first year. She had started out fine. She had been a fast runner even back then, mostly because Dudley used to chase her on his bike.

But half way around the track she had collapsed, not being used to running for so long so fast. She hadn't had anything to eat that day she had been so nervous, which might have contributed; it was still embarrassing. Wood had offered that she only run half the course next time in difference to her age. She had refused. Since then she had trained every morning to build up her endurance. She had still been the slowest person on the team. But, she had also been more than two years younger than the rest of the team and at eleven, two years was a lot.

"How are you so fast, your legs are tiny." Dean Thomas complained, once they had crossed the finish line.

"Me fast? Are you sure you aren't just really slow?" she replied teasingly. She was feeling more optimistic already.

The next class was tracking for dark magic. Harry frowned, most of the old manor houses would light up like beacons with a spell like this, even if no dark magic had been performed in numerous years. She knew Grimmould place was vibrating with dark memories, that didn't make her – the owner – a criminal. She thought aurors would have more accurate monitoring devices.

She was uneasy on the subject of dark and light. Maybe just because of the hours of rhetoric that Riddle had stuffed down her throat.

It wasn't all wrong though. She didn't think.

Emotions powered spells. Dark spells were popular because it was easier to feel emotions such as anger, hate, pain. But if you cast those types of spells enough, those would be all the emotions you would be able to feel, since those were the emotions you were choosing to surround yourself with, until you were so enveloped in painful emotions that you would go quite mad, like Bellatrix Lestrange. It was said that the mental arts would help you in mastering emotions, but it had been proved again and again, that no matter how strong your mind and willpower was, emotions are the strongest in influencing your behaviour and life. In the end of things, not even Tom Riddle was an exception.

Harry sighed. It wasn't that she disagreed that dark spells were fundamentally 'bad'. In terms of what they did to the caster's own life and world, it was just not all dark spells were cast with bad intentions.

You could harness grief to help heal, anger during a duel. Was it the ministry's right to forbid these spells altogether? Dark spells were bad for you, but so was alcohol. Alcohol could also lead to violence and death and yet alcohol wasn't illegal.

Harry vaguely recalled from her elementary school years, that at one point America had tried that very thing, without much success, as the amount of illegal activity had just increased.

Harry had been locked up, controlled and blackmailed. Maybe this made her irrational in her championship of freedom. Monitoring dark spells was like monitoring people's emotions, and emotions no matter how bad were one of the things that made you human. They made you – you. She believed in free will, therefore she must believe in making dark spells legal.

Punish the crime, not the method.

Sometimes dark spells were caste by wizards unintentionally. Especially during their teenage years. This didn't make them a bad person.

Dark magic was a part of every witch and wizard. Before spells and wands and incantations, when children were too little to speak or walk or understand arbitrary ministry laws, they would use their emotions to change their world. Most of the time it was the dark emotions, as these were felt more strongly.

The ministry was trying to pretend that this was something different. The ministry was trying to pretend that only dark wizards practiced dark magic, when it was in fact part of everyone. She wanted to speak up, make people more aware of the dangers of dark magic so they could consciously make the decisions to avoid them and really practice light magic instead of neutral spells, which was all that was really taught at Hogwarts, but she didn't.

A few years ago, she might have, but if Riddle had taught her anything it was how to pick her battles, and this wasn't the battleground.

\- _(A Mythic Image)_

"And now to finish everyone is to pair up. We will be assessing your duelling skills. Nothing more than class five spells everyone!"

Harry suppressed a groan. This would not end well. Instinctively her eyes found Ron's but he was already paired up with Dean. He gave her a shrug and an apologetic smile. Harry couldn't blame him much. She used to trounce him in duelling.

Looking around the hall, her eyes fell on Roger Davies. He was a few years older from Ravenclaw, Harry thought he might have gone to France during the war. A lot of people went to France.

"Hey." Harry smiled at him and strolled over.

"Hi, Harry Potter right?" He looked nervous.

"That's me, you're Roger Davies?"

"Yes."

"Nice to meet you." He was staring at her like she was half mermaid or had blue skin. A lot of people stared at her like that and Harry always wondered in these moments if she shouldn't get a tattoo across her face, at least then she could pretend that was what they were staring at, instead of feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

"I don't bite you know." She smiled maybe a bit too sharply because Davies took a step back in something that looked very much like alarm.

Harry took a step forward.

"Scared?"

"No."

"You should be." She put on her most creepy smile. She couldn't change the way people looked at her and sometimes it made her so mad that she did stupid things like perpetuate their preconceived notions of her. She was mad right now.

She couldn't change people's idea of her, she had learnt that at five on the first day of primary school, so she might as well join them in building her mythic image.

"Ready?" shouted their instructor, "Begin on the count of three."

Harry didn't bother to shoot off a spell. She ducked and rolled and got right into Davies' personal space. He took a step back and Harry couldn't help but grin. This was better than chocolate, better than flying. She looked in Davies eyes, and knew his every move. Before he could finish a wand movement, she elbowed his wand arm, and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. Before he could stumble back to his feet, she stepped on his right wrist.

"Concede." She stated.

Davies nodded breathlessly. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

Unfortunately, the next duel didn't turn out half so well.

\- ( _Because Life isn't a Fairy-Tale)_

A cloud of dust billowed from the couch as she collapsed onto it disheartened. She should really start cleaning the place up, but whenever she started she ended up rooting through all the knickknacks with not a clue what to do with half. Her current project was Regulus' room, which was a minefield of the grotesque and unusual. She was more fascinated than she probably should have been.

'Confringo', 'Diffendo' and 'Reducto': the only spells she could rely on achieving the result they were meant to. They were all offensive spells. The ones she had relied on most in the war. They were all dangerous.

Had she become nothing more than a weapon, whose purpose was now over? No one would hire a witch with a repertoire of three spells. Maybe she could get by in the aurors, but more likely it would get her killed, or force her to kill someone else. That was the purpose of offensive spells, like today when she had almost blasted Selwyn's face off. She couldn't have another death on her conscience, she knew it as surely as she knew her right hand, that it would destroy her.

 _Stop being so morbid._ She scolded herself. She wasn't eighteen. She had her whole life ahead of her.

She needed another option though, aurors wasn't safe for a girl with a murderous wand. Potions. Potions didn't need a wand. She didn't want to spend her life in the dark hunching over a cauldron. Potions stunk like dying things, mouldering secrets and dungeons. Potions were too close to Riddle Manor for her to wish for anything to do with them.

Runes also required minimal wand work. Runes were used in ward making and curse breaking. Curse breaking sounded like fun, but she knew from Bill Weasley that wand work was needed, unless you wanted to be a dead curse breaker. Ward making then.

Ward making. She had made simple ones for hiding and alerting when she was on the run. They needed a lot of calculations and preparation, and knowledge of obscure things like influences of stars and properties of woods and metals used to carve the runes. She had memorised two or three useful ones and learnt to do them quickly and completely and promptly forgot everything else.

It would need a lot of work.

She sighed, it was better than going back to the muggle world though. She hadn't been back in how many years? Too many to be anything but an outsider, well even more of an outsider than she was in the before Hogwarts years.

Ward making it would have to be. She was never so grateful for Tom Riddle than at that moment. Without Tom Riddle, she would probably have followed Ron in taking divination and care of magical creatures and have been completely stuck right now. Without Tom Riddle she also wouldn't be half so haunted. She sighed; she had always dreamt of being an auror. She liked the physicality, the need for snap decisions, solving mysteries, helping people and the promise that no two cases would ever be the same.

She was sure she was made to be an auror. Apparently, she was only made to defeat the dark lord, and now she would have to fend for herself. As she drifted to sleep she wondered how she could ever tell Ron.


	3. Lies and Half-Truths

"Hey Ron." Harry walked into the Borrow the next morning trying not to look nervous.

Ron grumbled something unintelligible while hunched over the dining table, shovelling eggs and bacon into his mouth like a famine was coming.

The Borrow was so quiet now, Molly was sitting in the living room knitting socks. She appeared strangely diminished, where once she could fill a whole room upon her entrance. Harry greeted her politely but on not receiving an answered retreated back to the dining room.

"Want food?" Ron asked. He wasn't a morning person.

"I've had breakfast." She lied.

"So? Have a second one – I've made enough." Having eaten never stopped Ron from enjoying good food. She smiled fondly.

"That's alright." Her stomach was in knots. She shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Nervous?"

It always surprised Harry what Ron observed. It made her worry whether he observed more than he should have sometimes and just hadn't commented.

"Umm – sort of."

"Yeah?" Ron cocked his head inviting her to elaborate.

"I – well I don't think -," she paused, "Becoming an auror isn't – isn't what I want."

There was silence, Ron stared at her with his mouth open, "You're joking."

Harry shook her head.

"What?! We've wanted to be aurors since – well at least since our second year, if this is about Selwyn yesterday it wasn't your fault, it was an accident, don't give up your dreams because of that."

Harry shook her head, "I should have used a different spell, I knew – better than anyone – that spell was dangerous, even if I didn't want to hurt him, it was my fault."

"You take too much on yourself. He is two years older, he should have known how to protect himself."

"That's not the point. I shot that spell." She was almost shouting.

"Okay, okay," Ron held up his hands pacifyingly, "just don't do it again, it doesn't mean you have to quit."

"It's not that simple," Harry pulled at her hair, "I shoot those spells off without thinking sometimes, they come as easily as breathing."

Which was true, never mind the fact that most other spells weren't coming to her at all.

"I don't want to do this anymore, having to watch myself every second. I want something a little quieter, without all the danger – I think I've had enough danger to last a life time."

"Bullshit." Ron was standing now, arms crossed over his chest, "You're the worst adrenaline junkie I've ever seen."

Harry winced. It was true. She was always urging for higher, or faster, or longer in all their activities. But she couldn't tell the truth. Because Ron was her friend, he didn't need to be weighed down by her problems. He would do something stupidly noble like quit as well in the name of solidarity. And well if he didn't, if he didn't care at all, well she would rather not know. She wondered not for the first time if she was the most cowardly Gryffindor alive, but that was another thing she didn't need to know.

"I'm not a child anymore though. There are consequences, and I'm not prepared to live with these. Please Ron, don't make this harder."

Ron sighed, "What happens to us? We are supposed to be a team."

"We'll still be that. Nothing will change Ron – you're still my best friend."

"But – but you would be a brilliant auror – don't deny it – it'd be like breathing for you." And if it was said slightly bitterly, Harry ignored this.

"Sometimes the easy path isn't the right one." She knew it was vague and nonsensical but there wasn't anything else she could give him. They were best friends, but secrets were still secrets and Harry knew how to keep them. Sometimes she thought they were friends because of the secrets, not despite them. Because people didn't want the truth, at least no truth but their own.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Ward construction?" Harry winced at the way it sounded like a question.

"Boring." He pronounced. He hadn't taken ancient runes or arithmancy so it wouldn't ever be an option for him, "I just don't get it. You'll be bored stiff within a week."

Privately Harry thought he was right. She didn't admit it.

"Then you'll have the satisfaction of saying 'I told you so,' - still friends?"

"Yeah of course – even if you're making a mistake."

She wasn't. She had two very good reasons:

Maybe in a week or a fortnight or a month, she would be able to caste spells again, she could ask Kinsley to take some personal time and come back when her magic was working again, but she couldn't take that risk, that maybe it would never be alright again, that somehow, she was broken in a way that would never be fixed. She couldn't risk ending up sitting around in Grimmauld place flicking a useless wand as the darkness consumed her. Ward making wasn't her dream job, but it was a job, it was movement, it was useful.

Furthermore, she was the girl-who-won. She had a target on her back. If it was ever found out that she couldn't preform more than three spells, there would be a lot of grieving wizards that would think it a great opportunity for revenge for loved ones or friends or even just for not doing enough, so she lied to Ron about her reasons and hid her malfunctioning wand. Not very Gryffindor actions but more practical in the end. She consoled herself by arguing that she couldn't explain girl-who-lived problems to Ron anyway, he never had been able to see past the fame and adulation of the title.

She smiled instead.

"You better get going or you'll be late."

Ron looked blankly at the clock, which didn't show the time but it was pointing Ron at 'late'.

"Um – I'll see you tonight yeah?"

"Yeah."

\- ( _Keep Moving)_

Standing in the middle of an almost empty Borrow, Harry felt lost. The trick was to keep moving she told herself, even if you aren't actually moving forward the illusion is so persuasive that you realise suddenly at some point you have actually arrived, usually not to the place that you were aiming for. Sometimes that isn't as important though as the act of movement.

"Goodbye Molly," She called, placing one foot in front of the other, Harry walked out the door, spun on her heel, and disappeared.

She arrived in the ruins of Hogwarts. Thumping, laughing, talking filled the air. She spotted McGonagall talking to a pair of dark haired wizards. Short and barrel chested.

She hovered in the shadows until the wizards walked away.

"Hi Professor."

"Harry, I thought you were starting the auror program this week."

"Uh yeah, I changed my mind," She looked down and shuffled her feet.

"You don't want to be an auror anymore?" She sounded disappointed.

"I was thinking of ward construction."

McGonagall blinked, "You want to become a ward master? - you hardly passed your arithmancy and runes OWLS."

"Yes, I know – I wasn't very motived in fifth year and I had a lot of other things going on, I'm motived now though." Harry nodded to emphasize her certainty. Hoping McGonagall wouldn't drill her on her reasons any further because this was all she could give.

"It's your life." Which Harry knew was as much of an endorsement as she was going to get.

"Well I was hoping you could recommend me for an apprenticeship? I know I haven't finished my Newts but with the school going to be out of commission for at least the next year, I thought there might be exceptions made?"

"I could look into it – if you're really sure this is what you want to do? It will take a lot of hard work, becoming a ward maker isn't a walk in the park."

"I know, I'll work hard, I promise." She didn't have a choice, without this she was hardly better than a muggle.

"Okay – I have researched the best ward makers in Britain recently due to having to replace most of the Hogwarts wards, they should be coming around tomorrow to inspect the foundations, if you come around 9 o'clock I can introduce you. In the meantime, I have an introductory book you should read so that you know at least what you are getting in to."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry had slept through half her runes and arithmancy lectures, resentful that she had to take them at all, and by third year sleeping had become a problem.

"It's not a problem Harry." She sighed.

All the library books that had survived the fire were being house in the Huffelpuff basement, since that was one of the few places that was still sheltered from the elements. McGonagall directed her steps that way, Harry right on her heels.

"Will you be volunteering this weekend?"

"I intend to – depending on how much time my new studies will use."

McGonagall smiled, "You're a good one Harry – you should do something you love."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry tried to smile convincingly. It was a nice sentiment even if ward making would never be her dream.

\- _(Shamelessly Slytherin)_

Harry waved to McGonagall with one hand and with the other clutched the book firmly to her chest. Heading for the apparition point, Harry caught sight of Malfoy's blinding blond head; he was talking to someone and smiling. Harry didn't know if she had ever seen him actually smile. She was so dumbfounded she never saw the rock and next thing she knew she had landed on her face.

She saw polished black shoes and a hand pick up her book that had fallen a few feet in front of her. " _You_ are interested in Ward construction?"

Great just what she need, Malfoy putting his pointy nose into her affairs.

"Nope it's a treatise on how best to avoid noisy prats," She clambered to her feet and brushed her hands against her pants.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, "You're useless at runes – there's no way you are reading that book voluntarily."

"You think you know me so well do you?"

"I do actually."

"I'm flattered really," she wasn't, she hated people seeing her.

"It's not for your benefit. It's called know thine enemy– I'm sure you know just as much about me."

"Not really."

"What's my worst subject?" He challenged.

Harry pressed her lips together, it was transfiguration, a class she had never even shared with the Slytherins, so technically she shouldn't have known that. "That doesn't prove anything I only know that so that I'm able to craft suitable insults – it's great for stress relief."

Malfoy smiled, "I rest my case."

"Just give me the book back."

"Not before you tell me what you're doing with it."

"It's none of your business."

"I'm a Slytherin – I make it my business to know everything about everyone."

"Stalker much?"

"Slytherin." He reiterated.

Harry considered, brute force – which is usually what she would resort to at this stage – would be ineffective without a good wand, and it wasn't like it would stay a secret for long anyway.

"I'm going to become a ward maker." She said because lying wouldn't be half as shocking.

"If you're going to lie you should at least make it convincing – everyone knows you're made to be an auror."

"Well everyone's wrong." She scowled, "And I do know how to lie – give me the book back know."

Malfoy handed it over reluctantly, "Why? Tired of the bureaucracy after only a day?"

Harry stared, that was a much more believable excuse than anything she had come up with. How did he do that, "Yeah, it was torture," She shrugged nonchalantly.

"What does the weasel think of your decision?"

"Ron understands."

Malfoy snorted, "The only thing Weasel understands is mealtimes."

"Well its better than only understanding how to insult." It was a weak comeback, Harry knew so she strode away before Malfoy could laugh at her.

\- ( _Because Life isn't a Fairy-tale II)_

Waking up on the dining room table with a book as a pillow, Harry thought for an instant she was still in a war, and had fallen asleep discussing tactics with Ron. She jumped from her chair, tripped, and rolled backwards. She groaned. Her neck ached. Wildly she looked around, the old grandfather clocked that stood beside the fireplace read slightly past five. She wasn't late.

Climbing to her feet, she tried to ignore that her heart was still racing. She was fine, everything was fine.

She wrapped her arms around her torso and started pacing. Impress the ward makers. How was she to do it? The sad truth was she had never been that good at wards, too busy trying to learn spells. She had been good at spells - until she wasn't. So, she couldn't impress them with her knowledge, or her test results, but if she had learnt anything in the last decade, it was that there was more than one way to skin a kneazle.

It was too early to get ready, but too late to go to sleep again, so Harry stepped out the door and started to run. She liked running. The illusion she was going someplace, the thudding of her heart against her ribs, how she had to concentrate on breathing. In and out. The trick was to just keep breathing, just keep placing one foot in front of the last. It was calming.

A couple hours later, she skipped up the stairs to make herself presentable. After showering, Harry choose a tunic and wizarding robes instead of her usual t-shirt and jeans. She wanted to make a good impression.

The waiting was the hardest to bear, but soon enough 9 o'clock rolled around and Harry disappeared with a crack.

"Hello Professor McGonagall." She greeted trying to regain her balance.

"Hello Miss Potter – allow me to introduce Aurelius Flint and Mildred Bagnold." She gestured to the two people standing beside her.

"Pleased to meet you." Harry smiled her practiced smiled and bowed slightly.

"The pleasures' all ours." The tall woman replied.

"Are you by any chance related to Millicent Bagnold the former minister?"

"She was my sister."

"She was a great minister." Harry had still been stuck in her cupboard under the stairs at the time, but she had heard enough to be impressed, although compared to Fudge any minister would be impressive.

"Thank you," Mildred smiled tightly, her sister had died for Voldemort's fear mongering tactics a little more than a year ago, "we've heard that you might be interested in pursuing a career in ward making."

"Yes, that's correct."

"That's an interesting choice, we heard that you were going to become an auror, may we ask what changed your mind?"

Harry took a deep breath, this should be easy, much easier than explaining to Ron or even Malfoy, because these people didn't know her – all they knew was the girl-who-lived. She put on the most earnest face she could muster.

"I've always been passionate about helping people, saving lives, making a difference, that was one of the reasons I wanted to be a auror. But after the war – well I've been fighting for so long – I thought there has to be a better way, a way to protect people before they get hurt, or worse. I want to make the world a better place and I think ward making is the best way to make this a reality."

"That's an admirable goal Miss Potter." Ms Bagnold praised.

Harry smiled, "Is that possible even though I haven't completed my Newts? I suppose I could sit my newts if it's really important but I would much rather starting learning straight away."

"I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement."

In all this time, Mr Flint hadn't said a word. He stared at her with the same hard grey eyes as Marcus Flint. She pretended to not be unnerved. At least his eyes weren't blue – ice blue like Riddle's eyes before they turned red. Riddle also had an unnerving habit of staring straight through her, dissecting her inner most soul and finding it pathetic and amusing. Compared to that Mr Flint was a doting uncle, so she smiled slightly and stared right back.

They came to an agreement fairly easily. Mildred Bagnold did all the decision making. Harry would have guided instruction three mornings a week, and the rest of the time she would help them in whatever projects they were currently working on, mostly doing drone work. They would be giving her projects to complete on the weekend and she was expected to hand them in promptly every Monday morning.

There were some courses she was expected to know like magical ingredients, astronomical movements and their effect on magical constructs, metal work, wood properties, and the list went on, and for some of these more specialized subjects, Bagnold would find a suitable master to instruct her in that field. Harry suspected that Bagnold just wanted to limit the amount of time that she herself had to waste teaching someone who barely scraped an acceptable in her OWLs.

Additionally, Harry would also be paying for the privilege. Most apprenterships were free since the masters not only received free labour from the apprentice but also influence and esteem if the apprentice was talented. No one thought Harry Potter would be talented. Not at ward making. And she was rich enough that they thought they could milk it for all it was worth.

Harry was slightly put out at their high handedness, but beggars couldn't be choosers so she swallowed her protests and smiled.

She might not be good at ward making but she was good at smiling. Even when it hurt.

They sent her off with another set of books that she must read before the week was out, and instructions to be at Hogwarts tomorrow for her first practical in anchoring wards.


	4. The Statute of Secrecy

Harry pushed the book off the table. It thudded to the floor, pages spilling open. She was studying in the kitchen, it was the safest place in Grimmauld Place. Mostly free of doxies and the other things that lurked in the dark mouldy walls.

Her eyes were starting to blur. Pushing her glasses up, she rubbed at them with her fists. Reading wasn't her favourite activity. Her notes were dotted with large ink splotches, a sure sign that she had been at it too long.

Harry had never been a book person. She found it hard to remember anything she read. When learning a spell, Harry had always relied more on trial and error than the long-winded theory. Ture, it took her longer to get the spell right, in class she was never the first to perform the spell, that honour usually went to Granger or Malfoy, but once she had figured it out, she never forgot it, and was on average the fastest caster in the school.

She remembered everything so much better when she was applying the magic.

Bouncing her leg, Harry looked around at the dark mahogany panelled walls. The place was bare. House elves didn't need pictures, and no one else in the Black Family entered the kitchen if they could help it.

But Harry didn't need to uphold the status quo. This was her house now. For the first time, she was free to decorate however she liked. Skipping down to the basement, Harry rummaged around by the left wall, were she had shoved everything so the right wall was free for spell casting practice. She was sure she had seen paint here somewhere.

She started in the kitchen, that was the room in which she spent the most time. She moved to the living room, a dreary room without much light since the window enchantments had flailed several years ago and now there was no light but the gothic chandelier.

She wrote the older futhark runes in gold and the younger futhark runes in silver. Words related to power in blue and fire words in orange. Protection in flaming orange like her mother's hair. She wrote words on the walls, on the floor, on the table in big bold rune letter so that she would never forget. By the end of the day, she was a colourful rainbow and so was her house. Kreacher began to wail. Every word she wrote down she could remember though, like it was engraved with fire behind her eyes.

\- ( _The Statute of Secrecy)_

"What happened to you?" Malfoy demanded as Harry apparated to Hogwarts the next morning, almost stumbling into him.

"Oh it's nice to see you again too Malfoy." Harry rolled her eyes, because only Malfoy was there to see her, and it annoyed him tremendously even though he pretended it didn't.

Harry looked down at her hands. They were still speckled red and blue. The paint she had used yesterday was oil based and stubbornly refused to wash from her skin. She stuffed them into her pockets, out of sight. Of course, Malfoy would point it out.

"Did you lose a fight with a paint can?" He mocked.

"No, I won of course," Harry retorted

"And you are so proud of your battle scars that you couldn't bear to banish them I suppose?" He asked sarcastically.

"That's right, the more colour the better I always say – not that you would understand. You look like a washed-out painting."

"Grey is a perfectly acceptable colour." He replied haughtily.

"It's not a colour at all, it's the lifeless remains when all colour has been leeched out of an object. Which is fitting really since your person leeches all fun from a day as well."

"It's better than looking like a failed carnival clown." He sneered.

"I like it!"

"I think the lady doth protest too much."

Harry opened her mouth to respond and then paused, "You've read Hamlet?"

Malfoy gave her his 'hasn't everyone?' look.

"Muggle literature really?" Harry was intrigued despite herself. It wasn't something she thought a properly raised purebloods like Malfoy would ever even come across.

"It's from the early 17th century before the statute of secrecy, when there wasn't any restriction on the access of muggle goods."

"What?" Harry gaped, she continued slowly trying to make sense of his words, " – you're implying that wizards are not allowed to read muggle books rather than that they distain muggle works – I know that's not true, purebloods hate muggles."

"Have you even read the history of the establishment of the statute of secrecy?" He questioned condescendingly.

"A little." Harry shrugged, enough to pass her history OWLs. Barely.

Malfoy tisked, "Obviously, you weren't paying attention. Do you know who opposed and who supported the statute?"

"The Potters supported."

"Yes, along with most light aligned families, while the Malfoy's opposed the decree – does that sound like something someone who despises muggles would do?"

"Well no."

"You should read your history Potter."

Harry bit her tongue on asking him just to explain, she wouldn't believe a word he said anyway, and he knew that. Harry was convinced that wizarding culture was more difficult than learning a new language. She had learnt Latin as a kid by Mrs. Figg's assistance and although she hated it at the time it had been invaluable in helping her grasp spells and their theory while at Hogwarts, but Latin at least was straight forward even if overly complicated with its five different cases. Wizarding culture pretending to be almost the same as its muggle counterpart but every time you think you have everything figured out, something else would bit you where you least expect it.

She mentally added 'The statute of secrecy' to her reading list, and continued into the great hall to help lay the ground runes.

\- ( _The Statute of Secrecy Continued)_

She soon fell into the pleasant routine. She still woke up before the sun most days, but she had almost convinced herself that this was normal and it was by design and not necessity. It allowed her to walk down the stairs slowly running her eyes over the new sets of runes she had to memorize; and while running, she would chant the runes to the time of her feet pounding on the concrete.

After showering, she would study for an hour, make breakfast and then apparate to either her lessons with Madam Bagnold, or to Hogwarts where Madam Bagnold would issue curt orders and expect her to know everything already. She usually had lunch with Ron, listening to him complain on how hard the auror training was and how it just wasn't the same without her.

Harry rubbed her arms surreptitiously. She had been lugging around huge slabs of marble, which could on no account be touched with magic. Something about the interference of lifting spells and protection runes. She had to look that up.

"Harry, are you listening?"

"Kingsley has it out for you." She parroted back automatically, she hadn't really.

"Yes." Ron frowned.

"You know you don't have to become an auror if you don't want to?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Anything – everything."

"Easy for you to say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the girl-who-lived, anyone will give you a job – it's a little harder for the rest of us."

"Stop being a prat Ron, I'm your best friend, I can just as easily use my 'mystical girl-who-lived powers' for you," She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers, "All you have to do it ask."

"Yeah, well I want to do some things on my own."

Harry scowled. Some people didn't have that option. Some people were stuck with the girl-who-lived powers whether they like it or not.

"Yeah sure, just tell me when you get tired of complaining every lunch hour." She shrugged.

After lunch, was more ward making, then back home to study, maybe do some cleaning of the house, or hang out with Ginny or Ron or George at the joke shop. After dinner, she would study some more until her eyes started popping out of her head. Most of the time she would fall asleep on the couch of the kitchen table or carpet or wherever else she had decided to read that day. The basement and attic were covered in black soot and shattered walls, from all the failed rune arrays Harry had tried; usually when she was too tired to even write straight.

Working on the Hogwarts ruins, Harry was able to catch up with Seamus and Neville who was working on rebuilding the greenhouses. Seamus hadn't decided what he wanted to do yet, and Neville had a herbology apprenticeship with Professor Sprout, so he was there almost as often as Harry.

But today Harry was looking for someone else.

"I read up on the Statute of Secrecy." Harry announced spotting white blond hair.

"What did you find?" he drawled.

"A lot of contradictions, the Malfoys were involved with the muggle aristocracy which is why they didn't support the statute of secrecy; their social circles would be diminished by more than half. But then not half a century later the Malfoys were at the forefront of the pureblood mania and supporting the restrictions on muggleborns. So how does that work?"

"You didn't dig deep enough. This wasn't just a simple question of our social lives. This was about restricting all wizard/muggle interactions. This was the same year that OWLs and Newts test were standardised."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just listen. Did you know that any wizard without a certain number of Newts including a muggle studies NEWT is not allowed to interact with a muggle unless they are part of your immediate family?"

"No."

"It's true. Another little fact. Only forty percent of the wizarding population receives a formal education. Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in Britain."

Harry frowned, "So the other 60 percent are not allowed to interact with muggles at all?"

"That's right."

"How does the minestry control that?"

"Funny question, mostly by very complicated wards, you might see it yourself someday if you ever get that far in your apprenticeship. I don't really know the specifics. I never really had a burning desire to visit muggles in their natural habitat, the muggleborns at Hogwarts were bad enough."

"Hogwarts has so much room though, why don't more people apply? – I know that Hogwarts has a scholarship fund for students unable to pay."

"Yes, you would know that," Malfoy sneered obviously referring to Ron, "Minimum magic requirement."

"Excuse me?"

"Hogwarts has a minimum magic requirement – if a child registers below this number even if they are a wizard they will not be accepted. It all comes down to the OWLs again, they are made so that they can't be passed if one has less magic."

"But if they can't attend Hogwarts and they are forbidden to attend any muggle institute – what happens to them?"

Malfoy shrugged, looking bored.

"That's why purebloods started persecuting muggleborns."

"It was a case of if we can't interact with muggles, then muggleborns should be equally restricted in the wizarding world? Isn't that a little petty?"

"Maybe, but if there weren't any restrictions on muggleborns they had a huge advantage just because they could move freely in both worlds. You don't understand how much of an impact it had on wizarding lives. The wizarding community is tiny compared to muggle society. It relied on muggles for whole sale goods and a lot of other staples which are just so much cheaper to be mass produced. Without being able to interact with muggles it wasn't only raw materials that doubled in price, but wizards couldn't sale their specialized goods to muggles which halfed their client base. The end of the 17th century was remembered as the biggest depression in wizarding history. So, purebloods tried to restrict muggleborns in the same way so that they would realise how ridiculous they were being."

"So why was the bill passed in the first place?"

"Well it was all the muggleborns and their light supporters like the Potters, who were complaining that wizards were taking advantage of their muggle counterparts. They didn't think it was fair."

Harry shrugged, "Life isn't fair. Anyway, that still happens though, that's why there's a misuse of muggle artefacts department."

"Yeah, the whole idea backfired really. After a few decades, the politics became murky and wizards became hating muggles without remembering the initial reasons. That's how it was possible for dark lords to rise to such prominence. And now the wars' over and the muggleborns and their supporters think they were right and good all along, forgetting that there are always two parties to cause a war." He sneered.

Harry grimaced. War wasn't pretty, but she wasn't, couldn't be, sorry for winning. The stakes had been too high to lose no matter the consequences. She supposed though now it was her responsibility to help to set things right.

Harry wondered sightlessly around the Hogwarts ruins. In the history books it was always implied that the statute of secrecy was implemented for the wizarding world's safety. But in the 17th century muggles really weren't a danger. Not for a wizard. With magic. It was true that there were many wizards with minimal magic that couldn't defend themselves adequately by magical means, but these people could also easily blend in to the muggle world and not draw attention to their magical powers at all, and learn how to defend themselves the way everyone needed to learn in the dark ages when law was a myth and killing a sport. They lived with muggles and learnt to use their weapons as defence. Accidental magic in a child was a bit of a problem, and most parents kept their children secluded from muggles until they could control their powers, it wasn't ideal, but it was life. The Statute of secrecy didn't change that. It just made it a law.

Hogsmead was the only wizarding village to this day even though the majority of wizards living in complete isolation to their muggle counterparts. So where did all the other wizards live if they couldn't interact with muggles?

There were also the children. They were always in the most danger, with their accidental magic which could alert muggles that they were different and yet not enough control to protect themselves with the muggles decided to harm them. This was the only real reason for a statute of secrecy Harry could think: to keep the children safe.

Harry tore into the black library, frightening a family of hinky punks in the middle of their breakfast. Harry squinted at the dust dancing in the afternoon rays streaming in by the tall French windows. She coughed. Stepping carefully over the rotten floor boards, running her hands over the books spines, and trying to make out the peeling golden titles. She still hadn't found any rhyme or reason to the place, and had to search for books one by one.

There were some funny wards on the place that prevented any and all summoning and locating spells. Not that her wand was working anyway.

A few hours later, she had found the birth and death records for the 17th century. It weighted at least ten kilos. Flipping through the pages, Harry looked for any premature deaths and their causes, especially children who might have been in danger from muggles. There were a fair number of child deaths, dragon pox, lithifold abduction, one child died from being trapped inside a cupboard with a boggart for two days, once a heard of mad doxies had choked a poor child to death, but Harry couldn't find one instance when the cause was being executed by muggles because of their magic. There was a child who was shot by a muggle by a stray arrow, but most such accidents would be prevented by the child's accidental magic.

To be completely thorough though, Harry set off for the local library next, to look up the corresponding mortality rate of muggle children for the same time period. It was more than double. Even considering the much larger population.

Harry frowned. So, what was the real reason for the statute of secrecy? It certainly wasn't to keep wizards and witches safe like the standard Hogwarts history implied. She didn't want to believe that Malfoy could be right but there were very few other alternatives. She pulled another book out of the piles littering the floor to look up the Owls and Newts test origins and requirements.


	5. Family

Nervously Harry stood outside the townhouse. It was Saturday, and she was going to visit her godson. She hadn't seen him since last last Friday, (not the Friday that was yesterday) at Remus and Tonks' funeral. He was going to grow up an orphan, just like she had. At least his grandmother seemed to care for him, and Harry was determined to spoil him rotten.

She was supposed to see him yesterday, but with the crazy week of starting auror training, quitting auror training, getting a ward making apprenticeship, and helping with rebuilding Hogwarts, time had been flying away from her. Yesterday, Bagnold had her working until long after six, and Harry had forgotten how early babies went to bed.

Tentatively, she knocked on the door. She wasn't sure about Andromeda Tonks, even though she had been perfectly polite. Harry couldn't help wondering if she blamed her for her daughter's death.

The door opened, revealing a regal lady with curly black hair and cold grey eyes. It surprised Harry all over again, how similar to Bellatrix she appeared.

"Hello, Harry." Andromeda greeted surprised.

"Hi Mrs Tonks, I thought I'd drop by since I didn't make it yesterday – or is now not a good time?"

"Oh no, do come in, Teddy is in the drawing room."

"Thank you." Harry replied smoothing out her cotton tunic. She always felt underdressed when visiting. It wasn't that the house was needlessly grand or that Andromeda dressed ostentatiously, it was just the effortless elegance the whole place exuded.

Harry was convinced that Andromeda would still look like a queen dressed in rags.

Teddy was lying on a rug in the drawing room, reaching up his hands to touch the tingling charms that had been set to floating just out of his reach. Harry knelt down beside him, pulling out a stuffed wolf that she had bought that morning.

"How's my favourite godson?"

Teddy gurgled. He was just two months old, and Harry couldn't believe anyone had every been that tiny. She was afraid to touch him, he was so soft and warm and vulnerable.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have invited my sister around for morning tea." Andromeda said.

Harry stilled. She knew Bellatrix was dead.

"Your sister?" she choked.

"Yes Narcissa, surely you have met her?"

"Oh." Harry let out a breath she couldn't remember holding, "Yes I think so." Probably at one of those stuffy social functions, but Harry couldn't recall her face.

"Oh, that must be her now," Andromeda said hearing the wards chime, and left to answer the door.

Harry looked around frantically realising she didn't have time to make excuses. Could she hide somewhere? No, she told herself firmly, that was childish. She looked back down at Teddy, smiling as he waved all his limbs in the air.

He couldn't roll over yet, Andromeda said that would happen at the earliest next month.

The room temperature dropped as Andromeda returned with her sister. Narcissa was blond and pale but otherwise remarkably similar, she carried herself with the same regal posture and her eyes were the same cold grey.

Harry jumped up from the ground.

"Narcissa meet my grandson's godmother Harry Potter – Harry, my sister Narcissa Malfoy."

And Harry suddenly realised why she looked so familiar. She was Malfoy's mother.

There was tea and scones and a lot of talk about the weather, but surprisingly, it wasn't as painful as Harry thought it would be. Narcissa Malfoy was charming. Harry supposed Malfoy must have learnt his social skills from his father.

Andromeda was humming after she left.

"Your sister's very nice."

Andromeda smiled, "We haven't talked in years, ever since I ran away with a muggleborn. That was the only thing I ever regretted, not being disowned by my parents, giving up everything I was ever taught to believe, or losing my dowry but never seeing my little sister again. Family is – even when you don't agree on anything at all – replaceable."

Harry grimaced, she wished being family magically made everything better.

"Do you mind if I come around Saturday morning next week as well? Ron and Ginny and I are planning on going out Friday and I usually don't finish work until later anyway."

"Not at all Harry – I look forward to it."

\- ( _Estranged Relatives)_

Harry left Andromeda's contemplative. Without really thinking about it she hopped on the first bus she saw. Buses were great places to think. The only family she had was Petunia and Dudley. They had never been nice but did they really deserve not knowing what happened to her at all? Guilt stabbed her, she hadn't thought of them once since the war ended.

For some reason, the next time she looked around she was in Surrey. Bus and train riding was a weird hobby from her childhood. The before Hogwarts years when things were simpler and all it took to make her happy was to run away to a bus. She had never wanted to run away on a bus, it was always just living in that instant, sitting on a moving, clunking machine. Pretending she was going someplace where food was abundant and smiles not horded. Then she would go back to number four, cheered. A secret on her lips.

She walked slowly down the row of identical houses. It made her fall in love with Grimmauld place a little more with each step. At least the place had character.

This would be her life if she wasn't useful in the magical world. She tried not to think of it. She would learn ward making if it killed her.

She stopped before number four. It looked the same. The last time she had seen it was the summer before second year. Half a decade ago. She felt something should be different.

She shouldn't go in, it was a stupid idea, a half-formed notion shaped from guilt and grief. The lawns were exactly half an inch high, the hedges two feet. She tramped across the grass, her muddy foot prints on the lawn a satisfaction. She was uncomfortable, looking down at herself she realised she hadn't changed from her grey blue tunic she had worn to fit in at Andromeda's. At least, she hadn't worn a robe. The tunic looked slightly like a shapeless summer dress. Maybe. Muggle fashion was beyond her. All fashion really.

Her feet were still moving, they stopped on the welcome mat. She shouldn't want to see the Dursley's. They wouldn't want to see her. To them she had always been the extra, the embarrassment, the thing to be stuffed in the cupboard.

She knocked on the door. Too late she remembered the doorbell. She had lived in the wizarding world too long.

"Hello?"

"Aunt Petunia." Petunia still dyed her hair canary yellow, wore print dresses and a lipstick a shade too red.

"H-Harry – I, we thought – you are dead." At a different time, it would have been comical to see the always composed woman gapping like a fish, but Harry just winced at the guilt stabbing her.

"Sorry to disappoint." Harry grinned. She wasn't sure that her aunt wouldn't have preferred that option, so she resorted to brazen humour. It was a bad habit.

Petunia glared. She hated Harry's humour.

"Can I come in?" Harry asked hopefully.

"What do you want?"

Harry shrugged, to tell her she wasn't dead, but she didn't want to explain on the doorstep, so instead she replied with the obvious, "To come in."

"Very well if you must." Petunia moved stiffly to one side. Petunia hated confrontations on the doorstep – the neighbours could see.

Along the hallway hung the atrocious pictures of Dudley the beached whale in various states of growth, just as when she was a child. She was the girl who had never existed.

"You haven't changed." Petunia observed, looking her up and down.

Harry winced, smoothing her perpetually messy hair. She was painfully aware that Petunia disproved of her from her atrocious hair down to her bitten nails.

"Yes," Harry agreed with an air of cheerfulness, "this way you're able to recognize me,"

Petunia snorted, "Tea?"

"Yes please."

There was an awkward silence as the kettle boiled.

"We all thought you died when you didn't return – I suppose you just found something better and forgot to mention it did you?"

"I – " Harry swallowed, the words were getting stuck in her throat, "It was complicated."

"Of course, a mere muggle like me wouldn't understand." Harry had forgotten how bitter Petunia was.

"It doesn't have anything to do with your magic or lack of it. I didn't think you would care honestly." Harry denied, although she had hoped she would.

"I brought you up." Petunia stated, which wasn't an answer.

"I didn't get the sense that it was willing." She challenged. She was getting defensive, which wasn't her intention when she had arrived, but seeing Petunia reminded her how miserable she had been in this house.

"Does that matter?"

"To me it did." Harry tried to keep her voice at what Petunia considered 'ladylike' decibels but it was hard.

"You could have at least informed me that you were still alive."

"I could have," Harry agreed sadly, realising she wasn't going to get Petunia to admit that deep down inside she had held some affection for her, however small. Petunia was probably only concerned with the etiquette of the situation.

Harry sighed. She couldn't have written, Riddle watched her mail. It had taken all her hard-learnt acting skills, and dragging up all her painful memories of her family for when he used legilimency on her until she almost believed she hated them herself, for him to leave them alone. At least they were safe.

"I'm sorry." She added, because Petunia was her family, and she was painfully aware that there were worse places to grow up. She wanted to say more, about kidnapping and blackmail and unhealthy obsessions, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't talk about Riddle. She hadn't ever told anyone. Why had she thought this would be different?

Petunia nodded stiffly. Harry looked down at her hands, ashamed of her cowardice.

"How's Dudley?" She asked to break the silence. It was a subject on which Petunia was sure to be verbose.

Petunia beamed proudly, "He's going to university this fall, he was given a partial scholarship for his boxing."

Harry smiled politely. She shouldn't have come. Five years was too long, when Harry couldn't even form a proper explanation.

Gulping down the last of her tea, Harry set the cup down with finality.

"It was nice seeing you," She said because that was polite, although she wasn't sure it was true, "I had better be going though."

There was only so much of sitting still and trying to smile that Harry could manage.

"Good bye Petunia." Harry said wistfully. She wished things could have been different.

\- _(Alcohol)_

Harry wanted to get drunk. During the war, it would have been irresponsible, but no such restraint existed now.

She apparated to the leaky cauldron.

"Firewhiskey please." Harry asked as she took a seat at the bar. The counter was greasy, and she smiled at what Petunia would think of the place.

"Here you go miss,"

Tom, the bartender placed a glass of amber liquid in front of her.

Without thinking, Harry took a large gulp and starting spluttering as the liquid burned down her throat. She guessed she knew why it was called 'firewhiskey' now, and it wasn't just the fire that periodically escaped from your ears as you drank.

Someone sniggered behind her, "Really Potter, you act as if you've never drunk the stuff before."

Harry whirled around to see Malfoy leaning against the fireplace.

"What are you doing here?"

"Watching you splutter."

Harry scowled at the no-answer. The Leaky Cauldron wasn't a place that Malfoy would typically visit, but then realised that he was probably just using the floo. Apparating in Diagon Ally was impossible now due to the tighter security. What bad luck, if she had been a minute later their paths wouldn't have crossed.

"Go away."

"Have you honestly never drunken Firewhiskey before?" He asked ignoring her last comment.

"I couldn't with a war to fight." Harry replied shortly.

"That's very mature of you," He observed sarcastically, "That also explains why you constantly wore such a pinched expression."

Suddenly Harry had enough. She jumped from her seat.

"You have no idea how it was like, so don't you dare start making fun! You didn't have a Dark Lord who would rifle through your brain at a moment's notice!"

"In case you forgot, the Dark Lord set up his headquarters at Malfoy Manor in my fifth year, Merlin, you're so self-absorbed, you weren't the only one affected!"

"I'm not saying I was! There were plenty of people who sacrificed everything for the war but I wouldn't count you among them! In typical Slytherin fashion, all you were concerned with was your sorry hide. You should be grateful, not everyone had that option!"

"Oh please, stop being so self-righteous; you didn't need to fight if you hadn't wanted to! You think you're so important because you're the girl-who-lived, but I hate to break it to you, the war would have been fought regardless of your involvement!"

"You have no idea Malfoy! I'm not a Slytherin like you, I couldn't have just stood bye no matter who I was, I didn't fight in the war because I was the girl-who-lived!" She snorted derisively, "I fought in the war because I'm me and I couldn't have done differently, even though I knew I most likely wouldn't see the end, and now it's over and I'm still alive and …."

She was about to cry, she couldn't stay here. She couldn't let him see her tears.

She dashed passed him, out the back door of the pub, and thanked whatever gods there were that the portal was open so she didn't have to slow down when running to Diagon Ally. She was hardly looking, dodging people by instinct alone.

She ended up in the post office's second storey. There was a large stone balcony which allowed the owls easy access to the sky. She couldn't remember how she had gotten pasted the clerks downstairs.

She crumbled to the ground and tried to stop her tears by burying her face in her knees.

She held herself tensely, her knuckles going white from gripping her ankles so hard, while chanting to herself, _I am not going to cry, I am not going to cry._

She took a few shuddering breaths. Concentrating so firmly on breathing evenly that tears would be impossible.

"Well, that was impressive."

Harry's head shot up. Malfoy had followed her. He was leaning nonchalantly against the stone railing, his arms crossed.

Harry jumped to her feet, "Haven't you done enough?! Go away!"

"I hadn't done anything – I was participating in some light-hearted teasing, and you decided to fly off your broomstick!"

"Light hearted teasing, is that what it's called these days?"

"I've said a lot worse things to you in the past, and you never let them get to you like today,"

"Like what?"

"That time I insulted your dead parents,"

"That was low, I believe I gave you chicken wings and a bloody nose."

"You always did have a proclivity for fisticuffs, but the point being you didn't start crying."

"I'm not crying!"

"Or blurting out painful war memories."

Harry felt her face redden. That hadn't been her finest moment.

"Don't worry I raised a silencing spell once you really got going, so there shouldn't be any embarrassing rumours flying around tomorrow, or at least no rumours close to the truth."

"Thank you," Harry said, so surprised she forgot that you don't thank a Malfoy.

"I visited my aunt's today." She blurted.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, of course this would mean nothing to him. Harry's living arrangement had been kept in the strictest confidence. It helped that at any one time there were at least three false rumours ranging from being raised by snakes (this was after the parseltongue incident in second year) to being kidnapped for a department of mysteries experiment (this gain popularity in her third year when everyone thought she was crazy) circling the school, all started by yours truly.

"And this was distressing?" He asked. She was already regretting saying anything.

"Look Malfoy – don't pretend to actually care about my life, I know you hate me, so I'll promise the crying won't happen again and we can continue being enemies."

Malfoy looked indifferent, "If that's what you want."

"It is." She replied firmly, was there really another option?

\- _(A Date)_

Draco swept out of the floo, brushing past a cleaning house elf without a second glance. He wanted to smash something. Potter had no idea how much he had done during the war.

"Draco darling, is that you?"

Draco represse a groan and dutifully made his way into the conservatory. Narcissa Malfoy stood regally among the flowers arranging a centre piece fit for a ball that wouldn't happen.

"Hello mother." He bent to kiss her cheek.

"How was your day?" She asked adding more baby's breath to the gaps between the lilies and roses.

"Fine," Draco answered still distracted.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, and glanced at the clock significantly. She knew he should have been home half an hour ago. He would have been if not for Potter.

"The potion took longer than expected." He explained, although his mother would know it was a lie. She didn't comment though.

"I met Harry Potter today."

Draco nearly choked, "Oh?" he manged to ask disinterestedly.

"She was visiting Teddy and Andromeda. She's quite a lovely girl,"

Draco barely suppressed a groan. As a Hogwarts student, he had sent pages and pages full of rants on Potter the savage home to his mother.

"She probably improves with age – like pickled toad legs."

His mother smiled secretly, "Of course – Astoria will be arriving in any moment now, you need to go change."

Draco grimaced. Why Lucius Malfoy thought Astoria Greengrass of all people would make a suitable bride for his only son was beyond him. Well she was rich, pureblooded, hadn't been caught up in the war, and finally blond, which on paper were all very good reasons. Draco just wasn't sure it would work in practice. He couldn't tell his mother this.

"Of course, mother." He said instead, leaving the room and making his way upstairs. He stood in front of his mirror wondering if the green dress robes were more appropriate or the blue. The blue complement his complexion yet Astoria might appreciate the green and the reminder of their mutual connection to Slytherin house more.

This was never a problem when talking to Potter, she never speared a glance at anything he wore. Actually, she never spared a glance for him at all, but that was beside the point.

"Draco," Astoria curtseys demurely as he come down the grand staircase, dressed in blue because really, if he had to endure these dates at least he could please himself with his clothing choices.

"Astoria, good of you to come," He bowed over her outstretched hand.

They talked about the weather and the new minister and mutual friends and Draco was only half listening to the conversation. Potter should keep her self-righteous opinions to herself. Just because he didn't feel the need tell the world of his efforts like some Gryffindor.

He forced himself to look back at Astoria.

It wasn't that Astoria wasn't pretty. She was, beautiful in fact. Long golden hair pinned up demurely and big pale blues eyes. She was everything he should ever have wanted. He just wished he wasn't always fighting to keep his eyes open when she was around. Maybe then he would realise how interesting she really was.

Draco had, with a few well place bribes broken into the records chamber and viewed her OWLs scores a couple of weeks ago, before this courting had been arranged. She was smart. Five Outstandings, and the other three had all been Exceed Expectations, she had been top of her year, she was much smarter than her older sister Daphne. On paper, arguably smarter than Potter as well. Although he didn't believe that for an instant.

Draco took another sip of his tea, and plastered his smile back onto his face. Astoria was a wonderful witch and Draco was determined to make this work. Or at least be polite for the hour that she was staying. He started counting the minutes.


	6. Being Rejected

On Sunday, Harry promised Ginny she would cover her shift at the Joke Shop. She was looking forward to spending some time with George. She whistled while pulling on a t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey George." Harry greeted, making sure to jump out of the way of the green slime that emptied itself on unsuspecting customers as the door opened.

"Hi Harry," George was sitting on the counter, playing with a yo-yo. It was only eight o'clock, so the place was still empty.

"So, I hear you're taking over Ginny's shift?"

"Yes, I hope that's all right – Ginny said it was fine with you, she's out on a very important date that can't on any account be rescheduled."

"With that Hufflepuff boy?" George wrinkled his nose.

Harry laughed, none of Ginny's brothers ever loved her beaus, "His name's Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"Horrible pretentious name."

"Hmm," Harry agreed, and shifted uncomfortably, "Speaking of dates, Ginny and Ron and their dates are all going out to dinner Friday night, and I'm supposed to go too, so I was wondering if you'd like to – ummm – come with me?"

"Harry, I –" George began awkwardly.

He was going to refuse.

"Just as friends of course," Harry interrupted, "I just don't want to go alone when everyone else is bringing someone, and besides it'll give you a chance to grill the Fletchley boy."

George smiled uncertainly, "Okay."

\- _(Unseen Places)_

"Today we will be doing a routine ward check." Madam Bagnold announced Wednesday morning.

Harry was surprised, they had been working on the Hogwarts wards almost exclusively for the last couple of weeks.

"Okay," She was excited to be doing something else.

They started with the wards on the ministry, and then moved to Diagon Ally. Soon they moved to more disreputable allies, Knockturn and all the other places hidden behind. The wards there were tighter, as if they ministry was scared that the people there would escape, move out and make a better life for themselves. As if that was a crime.

Harry didn't sleep that night.

\- _(Idealists and Realists)_

"Malfoy, we need to talk." Harry announced the next day. She had arrived just as the sky was turning pink, knowing that Malfoy usually arrived early too.

He looked up from where he had been mixing the mortar in a huge stone cauldron, which would soon be used to keep Hogwart's new walls together.

"Yes?" He asked. Not exactly invitingly but not outright rude either. Harry just hoped the crying would not come up.

"I went to the lower allies the other day, to tighten the wards there."

He raised his eyebrows, silently asking what that had to do with him.

"You were right. So many people are being coop up there, with barely a roof over their heads and nowhere to go and nobody cares."

"I know." Malfoy stated.

"They're hidden back there like a painful secret and why does nobody know?"

"They don't want to know Potter – if they did they'd feel responsible. It might interrupt their rest at night." He sneered.

"We have to do something!"

"We?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

"Well I can't do it on my own. You know so much more about this world."

"In case you haven't noticed, pureblood sentiments aren't that popular these days. I wouldn't help, I barely escaped being sentenced myself."

"So that's it, you're just going to do nothing?" Harry saw the barefoot children and crumbling houses and _ached_. It was supposed to be different. They had won after all.

"Not everyone can afford to be an idealist Potter."

"I'm not an idealist."

"No, you're a dreamer."

"It's better than being a bitter old cynic."

"It's called being realistic."

"No, it's called being a coward. You're so afraid of failure, that you won't even try."

"And you're a bloody Gryffindor who never thinks anything through. You aren't a little kid anymore, your actions will have consequences!"

"Don't talk to me about consequences, my whole life is a bloody consequence!"

Malfoy's eyebrows disappeared beneath his pale blond fringe, as if to say: Really is that the line you're going with?

"Shut up Malfoy!"

"Go and shove your self-righteousness up someone else's ass." He replied.

Malfoy held his wand loosely in his right hand, as this was when the situation would usually descend into hexing and Harry just couldn't help herself. Not when he was just standing there with his wand out, asking for it.

She sent a blasting curse at him before she could think better of it. Malfoy dodged and returned with a stunner. If he was surprised at the lethalness of her spells he didn't show it.

Harry ducked and returned fire. Malfoy erected a shield charm letting the curse bounce back towards her and sent another expelliarmus in its wake for good measure. Harry dodged the first, but this put her right in the path of the second oncoming spell. She normally would have shielded herself from the second, but her wand was still stubbornly refusing to do shields.

There should not have been time to think of another strategy but Harry knew what to do, like she always knew in the heat of a fight. She aimed another blasting curse carefully to intercept the red streak.

Both Harry and Malfoy were propelled backwards as the two spells connected.

"What the hell Potter?! Are you trying to get me killed?"

Harry scoffed, "Please, as if I'd be that lucky." Trying to hide that her gut was clenching guiltily.

"You think you're so much better than us Slytherins, but basting hexes kill just as easily as killing curses. You're a damned hypocrite Potter."

With these words, Malfoy stormed off, down the hill towards Hogsmead.

"Wait!" Harry shouted, "Malfoy!"

"I don't want to hear it."

"Please, it isn't like that, I wasn't trying to kill you!"

"No just land me critically injured in the hospital wing for a few weeks?"

"No!"

"I don't believe you Potter."

"Look, I know you can defend yourself."

"So you were betting on my ability to dodge, how credulous do you think I am?"

"Could you just stop for a second? Please?"

Malfoy hesitated, but did as she asked, spinning around to face her, scowl on his face and arms crossed.

"Well?"

Harry took a big gulp of air.

"You're right," She grimaced, "Sometimes I just jump into things without thinking them through."

Malfoy snorted, "I'm not hearing the explanation."

"My wand isn't working. I've tried everything, but all it wants to do is shoot curses and I know it was irresponsible but you were there and I hadn't used my wand in so long and it was just so natural to shoot spells at you that I forgot that the only spells coming out of the thing were too dangerous – and I'm sorry. I really didn't actually want to hurt you."

"You're ridiculous Potter." But he was half smiling.

"And you're a prat." She replied.

"I'm not the one spitting out lethal curses,"

"Right, I really am sorry, Butterbeer?" she asked after a minute.

"If you're paying."

Harry was about to retort with something along the lines of Malfoys and not knowing they were strapped for cash but bit her tongue.

They walked down the hill together and for some reason the silence didn't seem awkward. They grabbed their butterbeers and sat at a corner table. Harry rested her elbows on the table and used both hands to hold the mug; she stared into the amber liquid far more than she drank it.

"So how long has your wand been malfunctioning?" Malfoy asked.

"It never really worked properly, I tried to get Ollivander to replace it but he insisted there isn't anything wrong with the thing. I don't know what to do, I miss it so much sometimes it physically hurts, not just the duelling but all the little spells that I forget I even did until I couldn't do them anymore – like cleaning my teeth and tying my shoes."

"How d _o_ muggles clean their teeth without a charm?"

Harry laughed weakly, "Its tedious, you need a little brush and a special paste, and your mouth ends up smelling like mint."

"Sounds uncomfortable."

Harry shrugged.

"Is that why you quite the aurors?"

"Partly – all right mostly," She amended at his look, "Ward making isn't that bad." She continued because the last thing she wanted was pity.

Malfoy didn't reply. There wasn't anything else to say.

\- _(Rainstorms)_

It started to rain.

"I love the rain." she declared absently, draining her butterbeer.

Malfoy looked up from his mug surprised, "Why?"

She shrugged, "I suppose because the world seems so empty when it rains, there's nothing but you and the water and it's beautiful."

"It's also cold and wet."

"Spoken like someone whose never been outside just to feel the rain."

"Why would I have? I'm a wizard, there's such a thing as the impervious charm."

"Come on." Harry jumped from her chair.

"You're not serious."

She ignored him and dashed for the door. Outside, she spread her arms and tilted back her head. She blinked rapidly when the rain drops neared her eyes but for the most part her glasses protected her.

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head ducked.

"And this is enjoyable how?"

"It won't be until you stop fighting the fact that you'll be getting drenched."

"I know I'm getting drenched. I figured that out on my own. Thank you."

Harry rolled her eyes. "Just embrace the knowledge that you'll be completely and utterly soaked, and you'll have heaps of fun."

Harry started to twirl. It was better not to keep still in a rain storm. If you were still, the rain drops hit you uncomfortably like sharp cold marbles, but if you were moving the rain enfolded you like your favourite cloak.

Harry glance over at Draco who had his shoulders hunched up above his ears.

She laughed.

"You have to be moving to really appreciate a rain storm."

"I'm really not in the mood to jump around making a fool of myself." _Like you_ was implied.

"But you make such a good jumping ferret."

He smiled cynically, "Dance with me then."

"What?"

"If I'm going to make a fool out of myself, I'm dragging you with me."

"I – ah I really not that great at dancing."

"I know."

"When –"

"I saw you at the yule ball." He interrupted.

"Oh right." She supposed everyone had seen that embarrassment.

Harry hesitated again. Malfoy held his arm out. She didn't remember why she had thought dragging Malfoy into the rain would be a good idea. Maybe just because his clothes were always so smart and his hair so perfect, and she hadn't really thought he would follow her.

He was staring at her now, daring her to refuse. Harry couldn't walk away from a challenge, so she placed her hand in his.

Malfoy was a good dancer. Even without music. Having partner that could dance helped. Ron couldn't dance.

Harry laughed, as he twirled her.

"Watch where you're stepping, those are my feet." He complained.

"Really? I wondered what those lumps that are impeding my otherwise superb dancing, were." She laughed.

"You're hilarious."

"Thanks." She replied seriously. It was hard to tell what time it was with the sky an endless grey, but it occurred to Harry that Madam Bagnold would be looking for her.

"Do you know the time?" she asked.

Malfoy checked his fob watch, "Ten past Ten."

"Shit." She was expected at nine, "I have to go."

"Wait. Potter - ,"

Harry half turned back, already thinking of Bagnold's scolding.

"You know you're not that bad without your red and gold tie."

"You're not that bad yourself Malfoy," she replied.

And she hurried off before Draco could ever get to his point.

\- _(Dining out)_

Harry pulled at the bodice of her gown, trying to wriggle the thing into a more comfortable position. Ron snorted next to her. The rest of the week had passed without incident. She had been shopping with Ginny yesterday because Ginny insisted she needed something nice to wear. This dress had been bought under protest. At least the dress was modest, it had three quarter sleeves and a round neckline, and cuts in the bodice were the white underneath could be seen. It looked medieval like a lot of wizarding fashion.

"I feel like the unlucky damsel that gets devoured by the dragon. You know the unimportant one that has to die so that we know how much danger the heroine was really in and so the hero looks dashing when he's able to defeat the thing." Harry rambled, she already knew this dinner was doomed. George had cancelled at the last minute.

She didn't really blame him, even though she had insisted on just friends at the last minute, it had been awkward for the rest of that Sunday.

Harry hadn't dated at all during Hogwarts and now she didn't how to go about the business. She didn't want to date a stranger, she needed someone she could trust. Dating a Weasley would have been so safe and easy, she sighed.

"You'll never be a damsel no matter how much you dress up." Ron stated.

"Ah – thank you, I think?" Harry replied. Unfortunately, Ron had probably meant it as a complement. She supposed all the Weasleys saw her like that.

Just then Ginny with her beau, Justin Finch-Fletchley arrived, and Ron and she stood for introductions. Ginny told everyone once again about her acceptance as a reserve chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and how much more brilliant the captain, Gwenog Jones, was in person.

Harry smiled. It was so nice finally hearing that something good was happening to someone.

"I wonder where Hermione's at – she isn't usually late." Ron fretted once Ginny had run out of steam. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were dating for some reason that was beyond her.

Granger and Harry didn't exactly get along, even though they had shared a dorm room for about six years. Granger was just so opinionated, and Harry had enough of that at the Dursley, besides which Granger believed that Harry got away with everything, from pranks to disregarding curfew to being on the quidditch team much too young. Granger also didn't believe she studied enough, and was always disgruntled when Harry seemed to pass her subjects anyway. She supposed it wasn't really Granger's fault, not knowing anything about Harry's life, but it would have been nice if she had just kept her plethora of opinions to herself sometimes.

"Oh, I'm really sorry I'm late, I just had to finish this report for the goblins you know how particular they can get when something isn't done on time – I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Not at all," everyone assured with varying levels of congeniality.

The dinner didn't get any better after this. The whole menu was in French. This wasn't a problem for Finch-Fletchley who had gone to some prestigious private school before Hogwarts, and Granger being the over achiever she naturally was, and Ginny and Ron seemed completely happy to let their partners choose for them, but Harry was suck.

She looked at the names again and blinked. Who had chosen a restaurant so snobby that they didn't even offer translations in the first place? She glanced at Ron wondering if he thought the same, but he was much too enamoured with Granger's eyes, or maybe a little lower.

"Do you want me to order for you?"

Harry looked up into Granger's warm brown eyes. She didn't even have the decency to sound superior. She just sounded completely sincere.

"No thank you, I can order myself," She replied with an effort at politeness.

She ordered the third appetiser and the seventh main, because those were supposed to be lucky numbers, all the while wishing she had a boyfriend who spoke French.

"Oh wow, that's really brave of you." Hermione commented at soon at the appetizers arrived.

Harry had ordered something called Boudin Noir and it looked like a purplish-black congealed mess. It tasted like mildewed carboard.

"Well if I'm going to eat French I might as well do it properly." She smiled and took another bite. It wasn't as bad as that time Dudley had made her eat mud. Probably.

She didn't have any more luck with the mains. It was called Ris au Veau, and Harry refrained from guessing what it actually was, some type of innards certainly. If you closed your eyes, they almost tasted good, although her stomach was already ruined from the first dish.

She wouldn't have minded the food so much, if she hadn't felt so distinctly like the third wheel, or in this case fifth. They weren't rude or anything but they were clearly all in love, or some semblance of that emotion.

She sighed sipping some expensive wine that tasted like it had gone off weeks ago.

At some point, after Ron had finished his second dessert, and Harry had counted all the squares on the elaborately designed ceiling twice (121), Ginny and Hermione had persuaded their partners to dance.

Harry walked over to the bar, to try and chase away the lingering aftertaste of her main. She had eaten so much of the main, she hadn't even had space for dessert. She ordered a scotch. Someone walked up behind her, and she tensed.

"What's a beautiful girl like you doing drinking all alone?" he whispered, his face too close.

"Does that line ever work for you?" Harry asked leaning back, so she wouldn't have to smell his breath.

"All the time." He assured grinning crookedly.

Harry supposed he would be considered handsome, but he was standing too close, "I'm not alone, go away." She slurred pushing at his shoulder.

"Fine by me." He grumbled some less complimentary stuff under his breath, stumbling to the other side of the bar.

Harry slipped from her chair, and had to steady herself against the counter, her head spinning. That scotch was strong. She scanned the room for red.

"Ron, Ron," she called stumbling onto the dance floor.

"I'm going home okay?" she said focusing on not slurring her words.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, no." She didn't want to ruin their night as well.

"Okay if you're sure?"

"Ah ha," Harry insisted.

She walked to the door as quickly as her suddenly dizzy limbs allowed. Breathing more easily, she wondered down Diagon Ally, not wanting to apparate or floo until she was slightly more sober. Knowing her, the floo would spit her out half way across the country and if apparating she would split herself between five different places.

She stumbled and caught herself against the nearest wall.

Two people were ambling towards her, and she could recognize that shockingly white blond hair anywhere. Harry hadn't made up her mind weather to call out or hide until they had passed, when Malfoy spotted her.

"Are you drunk?" He asked incredulously.

"No," she denied because that was instinct, "just tipsy," she admitted.

"You shouldn't be out this late alone, just because the war's over doesn't mean it's completely safe now."

"Are you concerned about me?" Harry giggled, "You are! You're concerned – don't worry I can take care of myself."

"Yes of course you can." Malfoy walked over and helped her back to her feet. At some point, she had slid to the pavement.

"My hero," Harry giggled again, "Can you speak French?"

"Yes," he answered slowly.

She clutched his arm with both hands and took a few tentative steps, "Oh course you do." She muttered.

Theodore Nott couldn't believe his eyes. He had been out with Draco catching up and eating cheap food that Draco pretended he didn't enjoy. He hadn't thought he had drunk that much, but he must of, for that was the only way he could explain the scene before him: Harry Potter giggling and clutching at Draco's arm, and Draco allowing it!

"We'd had better get you home," Draco continued indulgently. He was smiling softly, and Theo knew it wasn't from alcohol because he had hardly touched his cup.

Theo trailed uncertainly behind the two as they passed through the Leaky Cauldron. They were talking softly but somehow, incredulously, not fighting.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, Draco held out his wand to call the Knight Bus.

"Where are you staying Potter?"

"Hmm?" she was nodding off on his arm.

"Your place of abode, your domicile."

"It's too late for your fancy words, merlin, you sound like Riddle." She grumbled.

"What?"

Harry started horrified, letting go of Draco's arm like it burned, "N-nothing, I -I wasn't thin -, I – please,"

Her face was white as a sheet, like she had seen a dementor or the grim.

"Hey it's alright, calm down Potter,"

Harry breathed heavily, "I didn't mean – it was -," she took another deep breath.

"Don't worry about it alright?"

She was starting to shake, her arms wrapped around her torso. Draco stared helplessly at Theo. Theo shrugged.

"I ruin everything!"

"You haven't –"

Just then the Knight Bus appeared with a bang, and Potter stumbled backwards landing on her butt. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,"

Potter vomited.

"Hey, you getting on or what?"

"Just give us a minute." Draco snapped, vanishing Potter's dinner from the pavement.

Potter looked up and saw everyone staring at her. Quickly, she jumped up and tripped up the bus stairs, "Grimmauld Place," she stuttered.

Draco sent an apologetic look towards Theo and jumped on the bus as well. Theo hated the Knight Bus, he wasn't getting on that thing even for his best mate, which Draco knew full well. Although, he couldn't wait to ask tomorrow what that had all been about.

\- _(Knight Bus)_

Draco found her on the top storey, perched on a bed, leaning against a window, her knees against her chest and her shaking arms hugging her knees.

"Hey." Draco sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

Potter glanced distractedly at him and then looked away again. She pressed her face against the window but Draco doubted she was seeing anything.

Potter was wearing a dark red dress, her collar bones sticking out strikingly. He had never realised how small and skinny she was until now; Potter always appeared larger than life, like she could conqueror the world, reach the stars, live forever. Some people accused Potter of living off the fame of what happened to her as a baby, but that wasn't true. Potter didn't cling to fame, fame was drawn to her like iron to a magnet. She was someone that people couldn't not notice, even if they were blind.

He had always resented that, how she could do absolutely anything she set her mind too, and do it so bloody _brilliantly_ you just had to stop and stare, but he found he resented it more seeing her like this.

He couldn't insult her now, he couldn't do anything, she wasn't even looking at him.

The Knight Bus took a turn too sharply, sending the bed sliding across the flood. Draco had to quickly raise his legs so that they wouldn't be squashed against the opposite wall. Potter had uncurled and was holding onto the bed frame.

Some of the colour had returned to her face.

"The Knight Bus is brilliant." She declared.

Draco almost rolled his eyes, of course that would be her opinion, "I suppose you think the Gringotts carts are the best things invented since flying broomsticks as well?"

"Of course! In the muggle world, you have to pay to go on carts like that!"

"Now I have proof that muggles are certifiably insane."

Potter laughed as the bed went spinning again. Draco concentrated on not becoming dizzy.

"Grimmauld Place!" called the conductor, and Draco scrambled off the death trap with more relief then decorum.

"Well – thank you," Potter shifted awkwardly.

"You are welcome,"

"That was – it was really decent of you, I think – well, I was drunker than I thought."

"Lightweight." He teased.

And somehow it wasn't strange walking her to her door, like she wasn't the enemy, like they weren't Gryffindor and Slytherin, on opposite sides of a war, but just too school acquaintances. Maybe after Hogwarts it really didn't matter that much, which house you had been sorted into.

\- _(Slytherins get together)_

"So – what's up with you and Potter?"

Draco, Theo, Blaise and Pansy were all sitting outside Draco's Manor enjoying the spring sunshine, sitting in deck chairs and sipping pink lemonade.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked nonchalantly.

"You know – you two seemed awfully cosy the other day."

Draco almost groaned, of course Theo would bring that up in front of everyone.

"She was drunk." He replied shortly hoping that would be the end of that conversation, "I was only helping her home."

"Aren't you courting Astoria Greengrass?" Pansy demanded.

"I am, there isn't anything going on between Potter and me." Draco glared at Theo for implying he would start seeing someone while courting someone else. That was a direct stab at his honour. But he let it pass because the insinuation of being romantically involved with Potter was completely ridiculous.

"Except you aren't fighting anymore." Blaise observed.

"We still fight." Draco denied, "Just not all the time."

"Since when?" Theo wanted to know.

Draco shrugged. He didn't want to talk about Potter. He didn't even know what was going on with her himself.

"We sometimes run into each other while at Hogwarts," he said.

"So, you guys are mates now?" Theo prodded.

Draco shrugged, "Maybe."

"How do you not know?" Pansy asked.

"It's not like we ever have heart to hearts. I guess she just got tired of screaming her head off every time she sees me."

"That is extremely vague." Pansy pouted.

"That's because there isn't anything else to say,"

"Do you still hate her?" Theo asked.

Draco hesitated, "No – I don't think I ever hated her really, you can't hate the sun for burning."

"You're in love,"

Draco looked at Theo outraged, "You're delusional."

"He sort of has a point, you've been obsessed with that girl since you where eleven." Blaise commented.

"No, he doesn't," Draco retorted trying not to lose his temper, "you can't love someone that you've hardly exchanged a civil word with." Which was a bit of an exaggeration considering the last couple of weeks, but other than that was essentially true.

"So, talk to Potter and tell her you don't want to fight anymore." Theo suggested like it was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn't. And why was everyone assuming he didn't want to fight with Potter anymore? He liked fighting with her. Sometimes.

"You should break it off with Astoria." Pansy stated.

How did that have anything to do with his non-existent friendship with Potter?

"Does anyone want to play chess?" he asked loudly. It was a completely unsubtle change of topic, but when his friends were being this ridiculous it was completely warranted.


End file.
